


Mile High

by devils_paintbrush



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Desperation, M/M, Public Transportation, Urination
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-06
Updated: 2016-06-06
Packaged: 2018-07-12 18:18:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7117279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/devils_paintbrush/pseuds/devils_paintbrush
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A mile in the air, Dean is getting desperate. Meanwhile, Sam discovers a new kink.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mile High

“Dude, what is your problem?” Sam snaps, exasperated, as Dean fidgets in the window seat next to him, knocking into his elbow for about the eighteenth time.

Dean’s face is sweaty, and his lower lip is bright red where he’s been biting it. “Gotta take a leak,” he mutters.

Sam glances down the aisle towards the middle of the cabin, where the restroom sign glows a bright, forbidding _Occupied._ “Looks like you’re gonna have to wait.”

“If we were driving, I could just pull over,” says Dean sullenly.

“If we were driving, the werewolf would be gone by the time we got there,” Sam points out. He looks back towards the restroom, which is still occupied, while Dean’s leg bounces nervously. “Just hold on.”

 _“Can’t,”_ gasps Dean, as the plane rattles and jolts in a particularly strong patch of turbulence. He leans forward and presses his hands against his crotch, his jaw clenching. He looks so miserable Sam can’t even make fun of him for holding himself like a little kid who needs to go potty.

“Jesus, Dean,” he says. He half-reaches towards his brother, wanting to offer some kind of comfort, but unsure if he should touch. “Why the hell did you wait this long?”

“Didn’t want to get up while the plane was moving,” Dean mumbles, and Sam reaches the rest of the way over to rub firm strokes across Dean’s shoulders, feeling them hunched and tense under his hand. Dean lets out a shaky breath, and then he sits up abruptly, as if struck by a sudden idea. “Hey, do you have an empty water bottle?”

Sam snatches his hand away, his cheeks suddenly burning. “ _Dean!_ ”

“What?”

“You cannot seriously be suggesting that I let you piss in a bottle while you’re sitting right _next to me._ In _public.”_

Dean glares at him. “Would you rather I just piss in my pants? Didn’t think you were into that kind of stuff, Sam.”

Sam didn’t think he was, either, but he can see Dean’s fingers flexing, squeezing himself through his jeans, and his own jeans are starting to feel a little tight. He checks the restroom sign again hopefully, but it's still occupied.

“Sam, hurry,” Dean pleads, now rocking back and forth in his seat, his thighs pressed together around his hands and his whole face screwed up against the demands of his bladder.

Shaking his head, Sam bends down to pull a discarded water bottle from the backpack on the floor under his seat. At least doing so gives him an opportunity to surreptitiously spread his legs a bit.

“Maybe you shouldn’t have drunk so much beer before we boarded,” he says in the snippiest tone he can muster, hoping Dean will be too distracted to notice the still-hot flush lingering around his ears and under his collar.

Dean gives a breathy chuckle, which means he has noticed, damn him. “You can talk me into getting on a plane, little brother, but you can’t talk me into doing it sober.” He removes one hand carefully from between his legs and takes the bottle, while Sam averts his gaze, resisting the urge to spread out a bit more.

“Hand me that blanket,” Dean says as he twists off the cap.

Sam grabs the plastic-wrapped airline blanket from the pocket on the seat back facing him and tosses it at Dean, looking away again as Dean tears it open and spreads it over his lap. He can still see movement out of his peripheral vision, though, the outline of Dean’s hands moving beneath the thin felt, can still hear the metallic drag of a zipper opening. Sam clamps his lips over the sound climbing up his throat at the thought of Dean pulling his cock out under the blanket, holding the bottle to his tip.

A pattering sound fills the air briefly, then stops. Sam sucks in a breath and holds it, listening intently, completely immobile in his seat.

The patter starts up again, lasting a little longer this time before stopping again. Then Dean’s head falls back against his seat and he starts to spray in earnest, moaning in relief as his stream splashes into the bottom of the bottle. The sound is loud, magnified by the hollow plastic, and Sam closes his eyes, panting, gripping the armrests in an effort to prevent himself sliding a hand into his pants to stroke his aching dick.

“Sir?” says a tentative voice.

Sam’s eyes fly open. There’s a flight attendant standing in the aisle next to him, looking mildly concerned. “Are you all right?” she asks.

Sam struggles to form a coherent reply, the bulge in his jeans growing obvious now and the sound of Dean pissing still clear from the next seat. “Fine,” he manages after a moment.

“Would you like me to get you some water?” says the flight attendant.

“No!” Sam exclaims. The last thing either of them needs is more to drink. “No, thank you,” he repeats more quietly. “We’re fine.”

She doesn’t look convinced, but she nods and moves off. Sam catches her glancing back over her shoulder curiously as she goes, clearly baffled by the noises coming from under Dean’s blanket. He sinks back into his seat, while Dean erupts in snickers next to him.

“Dude, no wonder she came up to you. You look like you’re about to bust a nut.”

“You about done?” says Sam.

“Yep,” says Dean. He fumbles around under the blanket, and then holds up the bottle, now three-quarters full of frothy golden liquid.

“Good,” says Sam, while his hips buck up against his seatbelt, his dick twitching at the sight. “I’m gonna need that blanket.”


End file.
